‘Mother, is everything all right?’ Her daughter Rhiannon entered, and Aileen halted at the sight of her. With all that had happened, she hadn’t thought of it. Her daughter, though fostered elsewhere, visited often to learn the trade of healing.
Aileen glanced toward Connor and saw that he had not regained consciousness. Putting an arm around Rhiannon, she led her daughter from the hut. ‘Everything is fine.’
Rhiannon’s face dimmed with confusion. ‘Would you like my help? The man back there—’
‘Not today.’ Aileen struggled to keep her voice calm. ‘But you may offer prayers for him.’
Rhiannon’s expression turned critical. ‘Will the prayers heal him?’ She twisted her dark brown braid, a worried expression puckering her face.
‘It can do no harm.’
‘Let me help you,’ her daughter begged.
‘No.’ The word came out sharper than she’d intended. Aileen forced herself to smile. ‘He will be well soon enough. It is not as bad as it seems.’ The lie added to her burden of guilt.
‘You are a good healer, Mother. No matter what they say,’ Rhiannon said. With shining eyes, she added, ‘I want to be like you.’
Aileen’s skin warmed with embarrassment. ‘I hope that you become a better healer than I.’ She was grateful she was to have such a bond with her daughter. Most children grew closer to their foster parents than to their own flesh and blood. Rhiannon’s frequent visits meant that and with each passing year Aileen loved her daughter more.
‘They are bringing a new healer,’ Rhiannon admitted, a frown shadowing her face. ‘I heard Tómas speak of it.’
‘When?’
‘Within a sennight.’ Rhiannon took her mother’s hand. ‘But she can’t be as good as you. What happened wasn’t your fault. They—’
‘It does not matter,’ Aileen interrupted. ‘Your foster parents will be waiting for you. You must go now.’
‘Shall I see you on the morrow?’
‘Not until this man is gone.’
‘But why? I have helped with battle wounds before.’
‘Do not argue with me. When he has returned to his people, then you may return.’ Aileen drew her daughter into an embrace. She stroked Rhiannon’s deep brown hair, murmuring, ‘I shall see you after that.’
Rhiannon held her tightly. ‘I’ll come back to see you soon, Mother.’
‘I love you,a iníon. Be good.’ She touched her nose to Rhiannon’s.
‘I will.’
Aileen waited until her daughter reached the top of the hillside before she returned to Connor. Thank the gods Rhiannon had not questioned her further.
Inside the hut, Connor lay still. She picked up his right hand, and he flinched. It was the first physical reaction she’d seen from him. Good. He might live after all. It looked as though someone had smashed a mallet against the fingers. The same treatment had been applied to his right wrist.
Such unusual wounds. If his enemy had wanted him dead, a simple arrow or dagger through the heart would suffice. This was a punishment, it seemed. Connor had no weapons, which suggested he had been a prisoner. They had discarded him in the midst of a field, and, were it not for Lorcan’s interference, Connor might be there still.
She needed to set the bones properly. As she looked through her supply of wooden splints for the right shape and size, her thoughts returned to Rhiannon. Love filled her at the thought of her sweet-faced girl. She could not imagine life without her.
No one would take Rhiannon from her. Especially not Connor MacEgan, the man who had fathered her.
His hands were on fire. Pain such as he’d never known coursed through him. Connor jerked, his muscles seizing at the vicious agony.
‘Lie still. I have to set the bones.’
Connor could no more cease his movements than he could prevent the roar that escaped him. The woman moved another of his bones, and he prayed for the blessed darkness to consume him once more.
Her ministrations made that impossible. Instead, he focused his mind on what had happened, with fleeting images of Flynn Ó Banníon’s men holding him down. He’d fought against them as knives sliced into his flesh. The pain was nothing compared to what came next. His former friends had held him down while the chieftain raised a stone mallet.
